


ab initio

by moonlitserenades



Series: i solemnly swear that i am up to no good [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Separate Houses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: Oh yes, Mr. Pettigrew, there is much, much more here than anyone who knows you can imagine. Yourself included, I think.Like what,Peter thinks, and he doesn’t know what he wants the hat to tell him, really. That he’s actually brilliant, or brave, or any number of those wonderful things that get you written into a textbook? Or just that he won’t fall flat on his face--that he can do this, get through this, and not end up all on his own at the end?Ah, but that’s for you to find out, isn’t it?the hat practically purrs.My job is just to put you where you have the best chance of growing…It pauses, for an indeterminate amount of time that seems to last several hours, and then the hat shouts, “SLYTHERIN."Also featuring: Hufflepuff Sirius, Ravenclaw Remus, and Gryffindor James.





	1. the sorting, or how it begins

When Sirius Black’s name is called for the Sorting, he trots forward, nervous excitement sharp in his belly, and sits on the rickety stool to await his fate. _Hmm,_ says the hat in his ear, making him jump a little even though he’d known to expect it. _An interesting mind here. Quite a history, too...your whole family in Slytherin, isn’t it?_ It asks the question as though it isn’t well aware. As though it hadn’t put them all there. Sirius blinks, thinking wryly, _obviously._

_You could be, too,_ the hat tells him, undeterred, and he stiffens so suddenly that he nearly slips off the stool.

_No,_ he thinks, without meaning to. There’s an insistent buzzing in his ears, and he can’t seem to think anything beyond a repeated, desperate denial that he wishes he had the wherewithal to elaborate upon. 

The hat makes a sound almost like a chuckle as it murmurs, _You’ve got the ambition for it._

_I don’t want to,_ he thinks now, childish, and the hat continues.

_There is a lot more here. Bravery. Kindness, at times. A deep capacity for love. You, young Sirius, could go anywhere._

This is taking longer than Sirius had been prepared for. Muttering is starting to sweep throughout the Great Hall. He wishes he couldn’t hear it, but the roaring in his ears has vanished just when he had begun to draw strength from it, and the courage he’d found on the train (“maybe I’ll be the first in my family to go somewhere else”) is fading fast. He thinks, briefly, of how his father might react if he doesn't end up in Slytherin, and shudders.

_It might do you good, being somewhere else._ The hat’s voice has gone almost sly, and a moment later, it’s shouted “HUFFLEPUFF” without giving Sirius the slightest chance to regroup. For a moment, he thinks it’s a joke. He stays on the stool, startled, heart pounding hard in his ears, but it doesn’t seem to be speaking up anymore, and then Professor McGonagall is coming over to take the hat, and he pulls himself to his feet with what he hopes is the dignity befitting a Black. Even the first one in generations not to be placed in Slytherin. 

And of all places to end up; what have Hufflepuffs got going for them? When has a Hufflepuff ever done anything noteworthy with his life? His mother has never even bothered mentioning it, as though people in that House are a complete nonentity. Numbly, Sirius moves forward. They’re all applauding him, looking delighted, as though they don’t realize how very much he doesn’t belong there. 

He slides a glance toward the Slytherin table and immediately wishes he hadn’t. None of them look scandalized, but they wouldn’t--it wouldn’t be appropriate. But Narcissa is watching him coldly, and Lucius Malfoy seems to be whispering to the person beside him, looking entertained. Sirius feels, suddenly, rather ill and not at all hungry, but he focuses all his efforts on choosing a seat. He turns his back on the table to continue watching the Sorting, inadvertently ignoring the witch beside him, who had attempted to greet him. He doesn’t even hear her--he is focusing very hard on looking unruffled. 

Lily Evans watches him go thoughtfully. She’s done quite a bit of reading on all four of the Houses since she’d got her letter, and she still isn’t quite sure where she’d like to be. Isn’t sure where she thinks she’ll end up, either. If she’s being honest with herself (and she’s a bit afraid to be, eleven years old and so far removed from this world until _this very moment as she’s been_ ), she’s not sure it’s a particularly logical process, letting a hat decide where she’ll live for a whole _seven years._

But, the school is thousands of years old already. They must know what they're doing. She resolves to stop worrying about it and continue her wide-eyed admiration of the Great Hall. It's more beautiful than she ever dared to imagine. And for a moment she lets herself wonder what it might be like if Petunia were here with her, no matter that Tuney is younger and wouldn’t be able to join yet anyway: standing behind her, jabbering in her ear about the state of that one's robes, and the ceiling is amazing, and just look at those ghosts, Lily, _ghosts!_ Can you imagine! They would be pressed closer than necessary, enjoying the familiarity of having a beloved sister to be with, both pretending that there's the slightest chance they'll end up in the same house. Both hoping.

Or would they be? And does Tuney even love her, really, now that...

Turns out thinking about Petunia makes her sad, so Lily casts her eyes around her again, drinking in the splendor of the hall to distract herself.

"Evans, Lily!"

Eagerly, she half-jogs to the stool and sits. The hat falls over her eyes, and she thinks about pushing it back so that she can still see; but then the hat starts to talk, and she’s too fascinated to care. _Hello, Miss Evans._

_Hello,_ she thinks, bemused.

_Very bright, you are,_ the hat tells her. She knows that, in the matter-of-fact way of the young, but it makes her glow to hear someone (something?) else say it. Then, the hat continues. _But I certainly wouldn’t call it a defining characteristic. No, I think I know just the place for you, the first witch in your family, brave enough to face up to your sister’s jealousy…_

And before she can puzzle out how she feels about that, the hat has shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” and she’s hurrying across the hall to the table cheering the loudest.

As the ceremony continues, Remus Lupin finds it increasingly difficult to stop himself shaking. What if Dumbledore was wrong? What if they’ve changed their minds? Or, worse still, what if the hat sees inside his mind and it decides they shouldn’t keep him? What if it whispers that he’s too dangerous, that he shouldn’t be allowed too close to the others--the ones who are whole? Remus wonders if he might be sick, and is briefly grateful that he hadn’t had much to eat today. 

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, clenching fingers around the soft fabric inside to hide the way they tremble. Tilts his head back to watch the purplish storm clouds chase themselves across the enchanted ceiling. Startles when Professor McGonagall calls, “Lupin, Remus!” in crisp tones.

So he walks, willing himself to look calm. Sits. Considers closing his eyes, until the hat drops too low on his head and casts the hall in darkness anyway. It’s sort of a relief, he thinks, and immediately feels like a coward for it.

_You are no coward, Remus Lupin,_ the hat breathes in his ear, and he’d read about that, he was ready for it, so he only jumps a little. _Clever, too,_ it continues, _and there’s something of an acerbic wit here, if you’ll ever let it out. There’s a lot here that you ought to let out, and I think I know just the place to help you do it._

“RAVENCLAW!” it shouts, and Remus is practically weak with relief as Professor McGonagall takes off the hat. People are cheering. Cheering! For him! He’s too happy to let it occur to him what might happen if they found out the truth; too busy having his hands wrung by the Ravenclaw prefects and then sliding onto the wooden bench beside a boy a few years older than himself, who wastes no time in passing him a plate.

Remus smiles, hope blossoming warm and bright in his chest.

“God, I wish they’d get on with it,” mutters the boy behind Peter Pettigrew, sighing through his nose. “I’m bloody starving.” 

Peter wipes his sweating hands on his robes for the umpteenth time and wishes he could be so cavalier about it. The storm is making him twitchy enough as it is, much less the anxiety of having no bloody clue where he’ll end up, and he can’t seem to stand still. He shifts on the balls of his feet, wondering if his heart is really beating so loud that everyone else can hear. Watches his classmates being Sorted without managing to pay proper attention, really. The only thing he knows for sure is that so far, three of the people he’s met on the train have gone their separate ways. He doesn’t like that, much. He’d hoped...well, he’s got to be with at least one of them, hasn’t he, as there were more than four. He likes the possibility of that. He recognizes no one else at any of the long tables, and he can’t help but worry about the fact that he’s not sure where he’ll fit.

“Pettigrew, Peter!”

The calling of his name comes with a poorly-timed clap of thunder; he trips over his own feet as he startles over it and nearly goes sprawling. It’s something of a miracle when he manages to catch himself without hitting the ground, his face burning at the nervous laughter of those around him. It’s a relief to have the hat placed on his head, a relief not to have to look at all the staring faces.

_Peter Pettigrew,_ the hat half-sings, and he jumps so badly he nearly slips off his stool. _How interesting to peek into this mind of yours._

Peter feels his eyes widen in the darkness. Interesting is a word he barely dares to ascribe to himself, and he can’t remember anyone ever using it to describe him before.

_Oh yes, Mr. Pettigrew, there is much, much more here than anyone who knows you can imagine. Yourself included, I think._

_Like what,_ Peter thinks, and he doesn’t know what he wants the hat to tell him, really. That he’s actually brilliant, or brave, or any number of those wonderful things that get you written into a textbook? Or just that he won’t fall flat on his face--that he can do this, get through this, and not end up all on his own at the end?

_Ah, but that’s for you to find out, isn’t it?_ the hat practically purrs. _My job is just to put you where you have the best chance of growing…_

It pauses, for an indeterminate amount of time that seems to last several hours, and when the hat shouts, “SLYTHERIN,” he nearly slips off the stool yet again, in shock. He’s heard about Slytherins--cunning, ambitious, cutting Slytherins--and he cannot imagine himself finding a home there. But another part of him can’t be bothered to care, much, because he’s so relieved to have been given a place at all. He hurries across the hall and drops, rather more heavily than he’d meant to, into a seat.

The Sorting is more than half over now, and James Potter’s turn could not have come fast enough. Not like he doesn’t know where he’s going to go, but he’s so impossibly eager to get there that it’s taking all of his eleven-year-old restraint not to bounce up and down on the tips of his toes.

“Potter, James!” McGonagall calls, and he’s _going,_ strolling in long strides across the Great Hall like he’s been there years already and is just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. 

_Another Potter, eh,_ the hat says, sounding amused. _I know just where to put you._ And James is grinning hard and unabashed and the hat is shouting, “GRYFFINDOR,” and _yes,_ that’s it! He’s beaming as he goes to the table, mind whirring with possibility and excitement and already crafting the letter he’ll write to tell his father the news. He is delighted to find that there’s an open spot on the bench next to the redheaded girl from the train, even though she doesn’t acknowledge him at all.

“I’m James,” he announces after a moment, unwilling to be ignored.

“I remember,” she says. She’s already got her linen napkin spread over her lap, and she flicks a piece of fuzz off of it without looking at him. And then, at last, she offers, “I’m Lily.”

She’d never said her name on the train. “Lily,” he says, trying it out, and beams, deciding he likes the way it fits in his mouth.

By now, of those who had met in that tiny compartment on the Hogwarts Express, only Severus Snape remains standing in line. He stands with just as much certainty about where he’ll end up as James Potter had--but there’s something tempering the excitement now. The flame-bright hair of his only friend, shimmering in the dancing candlelight of the Great Hall, at the wrong end.   
She’s sat next to James (or, more accurately, he’d sat next to her, Severus recalls, and feels ever so slightly better). He still smarts, thinking about those things James had said. As though being a Slytherin was the worst imaginable thing. As if wanting to be in Slytherin had meant Severus wasn’t worth looking twice at. 

A hot curl of shame and anger is burning in his stomach, and Severus breathes out slowly and tries to remind himself how amazing this place is. At any rate, he’ll be away from his father. He’ll be on his own, maybe for the first time in his life not having to hear the giggling whispers about the state of his clothes or his hair. Maybe he’ll even make some more friends, and maybe Lily won’t be swayed by what she’d heard about his house and will still talk to him.

“Snape, Severus,” Professor McGonagall calls, and he goes.

It’s less than no surprise when the hat shouts “SLYTHERIN” almost the moment it touches his head; and as he goes to the table, Lucius Malfoy (Prefect’s badge gleaming on his robes) shakes his hand and welcomes him warmly to the house.

And just like that, Severus Snape has got a second home.

The welcome back feast is a miracle in itself. Professor Dumbledore stands at its beginning with a list of notices (no Forbidden Forest, no magic in the corridors, no wandering about at night, etc. etc. All things that most everyone knows or can guess, even the newest students.), and then there’s food. More delicious food all in one place than either Severus or Remus can ever recall seeing. It’s even impressive to James and Sirius, who are both used to a certain level of grandeur; and Peter coasts by somewhere in between, glad for a full plate and the opportunity to let the words of those around him wash over him.

By the time the feast is over, everyone in the hall is full and contentedly, and there’s a great screeching of benches as they push back from the tables to stumble toward their four separate dormitories.


	2. day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus doesn't realize that one of the owls swooping down with the morning post is for him until it lands squarely in front of him and holds its leg out over his oatmeal. A warm feeling blooms in his chest, and he wonders when his parents would have had to write the letter, to make sure it got here on the dawn of his first day.
> 
> Then he opens it, and it's not from his parents at all.
> 
> The warm feeling goes suddenly cold, and he feels his excitement harden into a heavy dread.

Peter awakes early on the first day of term, stirred by a combination of nervous excitement and the sounds of the other boys in the dorm starting to rise. He’d slept well, but had returned to a vague, hazy sort of consciousness about an hour earlier. Though he’d stayed in bed, half hoping to catch a bit more sleep, he’d also been half aware and waiting, not eager to go exploring on his own. Now that there are others waking, he yawns and cracks his eyes open. 

They’re all starting to dress, some (whose names Peter wishes he could remember) already chatting, swapping the rumors they’d brought from home and wondering about classes and professors. Peter sits up and begins digging around for his clothes, shivering and listening to the others all the while. It’s cold, he thinks, a little miserably, as he discovers and shrugs into his slightly crumpled robes. He’s always preferred the warmth, and he thinks maybe it seems a bit ominous, living below the rest of the school where everything is bathed in a strange sort of greenish light and the air feels a bit damp.

He tries not to notice as the rest of the boys start filtering, slowly, out of the room and leave him behind as though he isn’t even there. His fingers are clumsy on the knot of his new silver and green tie, and he gives up after about five minutes with a disgusted sigh. 

A boy across the room--the only one remaining, doing up his shoelaces--looks up at the sound, a vague flicker of annoyance crossing his face. But his voice is neutral when he says, “Alright?”

“I’ve never done my own tie,” Peter admits. The boy’s own tie is crooked, but he’d managed a decent knot. He looks down at it, and then back at Peter. 

“Suppose I could try,” he offers, a little doubtfully. Peter deflates slightly in relief.

“Ta.”

The boy shrugs, and doesn’t meet Peter’s eyes. He crosses the room and knots the tie rather hurriedly and backs away, as though he’s uncomfortable being so close to another person. “I’m Severus,” he adds. “Snape.”

“Peter Pettigrew.” He manages a wobbly smile, and pulls his rucksack up onto his shoulders, feeling a bit braver. “Want to go to breakfast?”

Severus nods.

Several corridors away, Sirius Black rubs his eyes and sits up, half-expecting the previous night to have been a dream. He is sorely disappointed--and also, somehow, relieved--as he takes in the room, decorated in shades of yellow, black, and bronze. It’s bathed in golden light, and now that it’s bright enough to see, Sirius notices that there are brightly colored plants on each of the window sills. The one nearest him seems to feel his eyes, because it unfurls a vine and actually waves, making him grin despite himself. 

“They’re something, huh?” asks the boy whose bed is beside his. He’s already got his robes on, and, as Sirius watches, ties a perfect knot in his tie. “Cheer the whole place up.”

Sirius snorts derisively. “Doesn’t need much cheering, does it?”

The boy twitches one shoulder in a careless half-shrug. “S’pose not. Still, at least they’re friendly.” He leans closer conspiratorially. “One of the prefects was telling me that the kitchens are just down the hall. Wouldn’t tell me how to get in, though. Not yet, at least. Still, it’s cool, innit?” He seems excited to have learned something like a secret so quickly. “I’m Benjy, by the way,” he adds. “Benjy Fenwick.”

Fenwick, Sirius muses, thoughtfully, Walburga Black’s voice waking in the back of his mind against his will. Pureblood, she reminds him, and a decent family, though not nearly as high up as the Blacks. Family involved in the Ministry, on some middle tier. The minister likely wouldn’t know them, if he saw them; generally speaking, the Blacks haven’t much use for government workers anyway. Still, you never know when you’ll need something, and now that he’s got himself placed in Hufflepuff (he imagines her wrinkling her nose in distaste as she pronounces the word) he could do much worse when it comes to acquaintances. He hates that he knows how she might react to all of this, and doesn’t actually give a damn whether mummy dearest approves of his friends--particularly since he already knows that’s a losing battle anyway. Besides, Benji seems genuinely friendly, and Sirius doesn’t actually want to be rude. “Sirius Black.”

“Nice meeting you.” Benjy grins, and doesn’t seem fazed at all by the last name. Sirius can’t decide if that makes him more or less likeable. “I’m famished, what do you think, breakfast?”

His eagerness is starting to make Sirius itch, though. “No,” he says, stretching his legs out and staging a huge yawn. “I’m not hungry yet.” But still, no use burning bridges, so he adds, “I’ll see you there later.”

“Yeah, alright,” Benjy agrees readily, seeming unaffected by Sirius’s brushoff. Sirius lies back down and closes his eyes again, and carefully doesn’t pay attention as Benjy Fenwick disappears through the dormitory door and into the Common Room beyond.

(He will end up going about fifteen minutes later, after most of the rest of the boys have left. He will end up on Benjy Fenwick’s left side, but not really by design.)

James and Remus make their way down to the Great Hall on their own as well--the former, too eager and excited to bother waiting for anyone else in his dorm to wake up; the latter, because he’d been awake a while already, and couldn’t bear to keep lying there.

When the Great Hall is a bit fuller, the heads of Houses begin the process of passing out the course schedules. Remus takes his eagerly from the small man who holds it out and pours over it. Double Herbology first thing (he spares a quick, grateful glance for the pale blue-grey of this morning’s quiet sky); then, Potions, and then lunch. After lunch there’s a break, and then Transfiguration and Charms. He grins rather fondly at the parchment, and tucks it carefully into his bag. 

He doesn't realize that one of the owls swooping down with the morning post is for him until it lands squarely in front of him and holds its leg out over his oatmeal. A warm feeling blooms in his chest, and he wonders when his parents would have had to write the letter, to make sure it got here on the dawn of his first day.

Then he opens it, and it's not from his parents at all.

The warm feeling goes suddenly cold, and he feels his excitement harden into a heavy dread. 

The letter is from the Hogwarts matron, asking him to visit the hospital wing after dinner that night. She also assures him that, should anyone else see the letter, it will look like a good luck missive from a friend, and sketches a cartoony map showing Remus how to get there from the Great Hall. The doodle cheers him up ever so slightly, and he slips it into his bag along with his new course schedule. Breakfast has lost its appeal, though, so he abandons his half-filled bowl and makes his way out of the hall.

Herbology is in greenhouse one, though how Peter is supposed to know which of the row of greenhouses that’s in is a mystery. He wishes there was some sort of map or something, but when he’d broached the subject, in a trembling voice, to Lucius Malfoy, the Prefect had looked down his long, aristocratic nose, and said, “There is no such map.” He’d smiled, probably intending it to be comforting even though his eyes had remained utterly cold, and said, “You’ll get used to it,” and hadn’t offered to help Peter find where he was supposed to go. No one around him had offered, either.

There’s a whipping wind when he finally gives up breakfast as a bad job on account of his stomach being in knots (though he had tucked a few pieces of toast into his bag) and shuffles out a few paces behind a small knot of fellow Slytherins. The boy from earlier--Severus--had spent all of breakfast eating quietly beside him, and hadn’t even looked up when he’d spoken to Lucius Malfoy. Peter experiences a flash of terror as he wonders if he’d embarrassed the closest thing he has to a friend so far. And to think, he’d been proud of himself for being brave enough to open his mouth. Severus walks with a purpose, as though he’s perfectly confident about where he’s going, so Peter trots along after him in silence.

Thanks to Severus’s navigational skills, they arrive early enough to have their pick of almost any of the long tables in the greenhouse, and they both gravitate toward the same table in the back of the room, and Severus doesn't appear to care whether Peter sits with him or doesn’t. So, naturally, Peter does.

They sit in silence on the same side of the table, Peter watching the door and trying not to look like that’s what he’s doing. But it means that he notices when one of the boys from the train enters the greenhouse. The quiet, tired-looking one. R something. Rick? Robbie? 

Whatever his name is, he gazes around the whole place, and maybe Peter’s projecting, but he thinks that the boy’s eyes brighten slightly when they fall on him. He walks over with a tentative, uncertain step, and Peter manages to make his lips curve into what he hopes is a welcoming smile.

The boy’s hands are curled so tightly around the strap of his bag that his knuckles are white, but his voice is steady when he asks, “D’you mind if I sit?”

Peter wants to open his mouth and say something friendly, but Severus is tense next to him and refuses to look up. So he just shakes his head instead, and when the boy has set his bag down, adds, “I’m Peter.”

“I remember. From the train.” The boy looks almost apologetic when he says this. “I’m Remus.”

 _Remus. That’s it._ “It’s nice to meet you again,” he offers, and Remus smiles slightly.

They’re joined a few minutes later by a breathless boy with a head of wild blond curls who looks a bit out of sorts. “Got lost,” he says breathlessly. “Alright if I join? I’m Davey Gudgeon, by the way.”

There is a round of agreements, and more introductions. They’ve barely finished speaking when Professor Sprout claps twice and takes her spot at the front of the room. Class goes by in a fascinating blur; Sprout shows them every plant in the greenhouse, and even lets them replant some of her valerian sprigs. Captivated, Remus does the best he can to write down what she’s saying, and he’s so intrigued by the bizarre vegetation that he even manages to forget about the looming dread of his impending hospital wing visit. Beside him, Severus is similarly engaged in note-taking, whereas Davey and Peter are mostly just gaping in astonishment. When the bell rings, all of them jump slightly, and excited chatter spreads throughout the class as they gather their things and head out of the greenhouses.

***

The door to the hospital wing squeaks ear-piercingly when Remus pushes through it. He flinches at the sound, shrinking back so that he’s nearly pressed into the corner. From where he’s standing, he can’t see any students in any of the beds, but he can’t see anyone else, either. He chews the inside of his lower lip indecisively, and though it’s only been about half a minute, is just beginning to wonder if it’s a better idea to go back to his common room and try his luck tomorrow when a woman comes bustling through another door clear across the way.

“Sorry, love, I didn’t hear the door. Come in, come in,” she says, smiling at him. “You look terrified, I promise it isn’t as frightening as all that.”

“Sorry.” 

“Nothing to apologize for,” she says. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“I’m--I’m Remus Lupin,” he stammers. Inside the pockets of his robes, his hands are clenched into tight fists as he awaits her reaction. But her expression doesn’t register the slightest flicker of fear or pity, only dawning comprehension.

“Of course. Did you find the map helpful?”

“I did.” He grins a little. “I liked it, thank you.”

“Good, good. And how are you liking Hogwarts so far?”

“I love it,” he says honestly. “There’s so much to do, and...and people have been nice.”

“Well, I’m glad of that. And how are you feeling?”

“Erm...a bit tired, I suppose,” he lies. In his pockets, his hands are clenched so tightly that they’re beginning to hurt. He can’t tell her how exhausted he is, how hungry and achy. He can’t tell her he can feel the monster lurking just under the surface like someone has peeled off all his skin and left nothing but nerve endings. She’ll think he’s weak. That he’s not fit to be here. That he ought to go home on the first train.

He can’t. He won’t. He meets her eyes and lies again. “It’s not too bad.”

She makes a disapproving sound under her breath, and he tenses, ready to be caught out for his dishonesty. But instead, she just draws a slow, deep breath and says, “That’s good to hear. But you’ll need to be sure, over the next several days, that you’re keeping your strength up. Lots of protein and iron--there should be rare meat available to you in the Great Hall at every meal. And make sure that you’re hydrating, and getting as much rest as you can. If you need a sleeping draught, you’ll hardly be the first student who struggles with insomnia in his first days away from home.

“Now, listen,” she adds, a little reprovingly. “I really should insist that you take Friday off from classes, especially with this being your first moon at school.”

Remus swallows hard against a sudden, mortifying lump in his throat and manages to keep his voice steady when he replies, “But we’ve barely started. I know I’ll need to miss Monday, but I--I don’t want to fall behind right at the beginning of the year.”

“I do understand,” she says gently, “but, Remus, it’s a matter of your health. All your professors are aware of your situation, and will be sending your work down here, so you will be able to keep caught up.”

Remus looks down at the scuffed stone floor, focusing very hard on breathing evenly through his nose.

Madam Pomfrey’s robes rustle as she perches on the edge of a nearby stool, putting her closer to Remus’s eye level. “That said,” she continues, “I think that you and I can come up with some sort of compromise. At least for this month.”

Heart leaping, Remus lifts his gaze again. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she says, a grin playing around the corners of her mouth, “If you do what I’ve asked and make sure you’re taking care of yourself--including making sure to have some chocolate every day--and you promise that if it gets really bad you’ll pay me a visit, I don’t see why you can’t finish out the week.”

“Thank you,” he blurts out, nearly bulldozing over the end of her sentence in his eagerness to reply. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Good.” She nods once, smartly. “We can revisit this next month, alright? Now, I should show you where we’ll be going for your transformations before curfew. Don’t worry, though; there’s a back way.” She locks the door before they leave, and unearths a chocolate frog from one of her desk drawers, which she hands to Remus on their way out.

The way she takes him is poorly lit and absolutely deserted. When Madam Pomfrey speaks again, it’s in a whisper, and it’s only to inform him that, on full moon nights, this is the way they’ll be going, and that whether they wait until curfew or not will depend on the time of sunset. Remus is too busy trying to keep track of the way they’re walking to think about this too hard, but he loses the thread almost immediately. There’s at least one point where they’re definitely in some sort of secret passage, but Remus’s anxiety is kicking up again, and he can’t even appreciate it properly. By the time she informs him that they’ve arrived, he’s begun wishing he hadn’t eaten quite so much steak and kidney pie at dinner. 

He’s startled by his hideout, when he emerges into it. It looks like a cottage of some kind. There’s furniture there, and a bed and everything. He doesn’t know what he had expected; some sort of cage, perhaps. But this is almost nice. There’s a thick layer of dust coating everything, but that doesn’t bother him. He spends a good quarter of an hour wandering around, trailing his hands along the walls, picking up abandoned knick-knacks and such. There’s even an upstairs, not that he can imagine the wolf will have much use for that.

“I’ll come collect you at sunup in the mornings,” Madam Pomfrey assures him on their way back to the castle. “You’ll be able to have a lie-down in the hospital wing if you need it, alright?”

“Yes. Thanks.” He sounds distant even to himself, and some small part of him that isn’t absolutely overwhelmed hopes she doesn’t think he’s being rude. But she doesn’t seem particularly fazed, and simply orders him to sit down and eat his frog before he goes back to his common room.

“D’you need another map to find your way back?” she asks, and he, mouth full, shakes his head.

**Author's Note:**

> The plan, at the moment, is to do this as a series that follows the Marauders through their seven years of school. And, as their Houses have changed, so will some of those of the other characters. There will be quite a lot of canon divergence, but I'm already having quite a lot of fun figuring out how that will look--I hope you'll have as much fun reading it!


End file.
